


You Can Blow What’s Left of My Right Mind

by isawrightless



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-29
Updated: 2016-05-29
Packaged: 2018-07-10 23:27:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7012465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isawrightless/pseuds/isawrightless
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And the kiss is rough and bruising, Jason bites his lip and he bleeds more, tastes iron on his tongue, a hand that was previously meant to harm is now holding the back of his neck to bring him closer. He doesn’t really think about anything else, just grinds against Jason, he smells of gasoline today, gasoline and blood, no cigarettes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Can Blow What’s Left of My Right Mind

He’s falling apart. He can feel it. Skin breaks, bit by bit, gives room to new bruises, bothers old ones. He’s falling apart. His back against the carpeted floor. Red stains perfect white, it’s too little. His face in the way of Jason’s fist, welcoming it again and again.

The left side of his face is red and numb from being pressed against the floor a few minutes ago, and there’s blood stinging his eyes, it’s his own, Jason’s face is clean, so very clean, blue eyes turning into these demoniac things, and he feels almost afraid but the next hit leaves him breathless. ”C’mon, you little shit, do something.” Jason’s voice is full of poison, but he doesn’t answer him. Can’t.

 

They’re both dying and when he looks into Jason’s eyes again he thinks he sees everything. A second look and that everything is gone. Jason shakes him, he hits his head, it hurts, hurts a lot and tears prickle his own eyes and he wonders if Jason sees nothing in them as well. ”Aren’t you gonna hit back? No?”

 

”Do whatever you want.”

 

Talking is difficult, but the statement leaves Jason in shock for a moment, hands grabbing the collar of his shirt as he’s stared at like some kind of caged up animal.

 

It shouldn’t be this surprising. He’s tired, he’s lost, he’s not what he was two days ago, hell, he’s not what he was two seconds ago. He simply is not. Maybe he’s not really here.

 

Except Jason’s eyes are piercing his skull and his hands slide up from his shirt to his neck and it takes a moment to realize he’s being choked. It’s unforgiving, cruel even, the way he disappears under Jason’s hand, and when the sounds outside start to become nothing but an annoying buzz, his face turns red and he reaches up to grab Jason’s arm, but his touch is fragile and tiny, so he lets go and waits for Death.

 

Such a petite lady she is, he’s seen her a couple of times, small glimpses of her silhouette, she caressed his cheek once, told him it was not his turn yet. He’s sure Jason’s seen her as well. She doesn’t come today. Perhaps she’s late. All that dying and annoying people she takes care of must keep her busy.

 

But then he coughs, feels like his lungs are going to fall out, his throat aches and itches, and Jason sits on his heels, drop his shoulders and stares at him, awaiting a response. He coughs more, who knows, maybe he’s still going to die, compressed chest and aching ribs from all the kicking and swearing and spitting that came before the punching and choking.

”W-what’s wrong?” he asks once the coughing fit stops.

 

”Do whatever I want?”

 

He shrugs. ”You laughed, remember? When (cough) you thought I was dead, when you thought you’d killed me, you laughed.”

 

Jason stares at the floor.

”So what’s wrong?’ that’s such a good question, he has no idea. ”Can”t kill me now?”

The man in front of him meets his gaze. His eyes are empty still.

”You’d just let me?”

 

”You want me dead, don’t you?”

 

”Don’t try playing that game with me. It won’t work.”

 

”I’m not playing a game here, Jason. You laughed. That’s as far as it goes.”

 

”Why do you care?”

 

”I don’t like being laughed at.”

 

”He’s gone.”

 

”He is.”

”Come with me.”

 

”No.”

 

”Come with me, Timmy.”

 

”Either kill me or go away.”

 

”And you’d just let me?”

”Haven’t I answered you already?”

 

”What, you’re fucking suicidal now?”

 

”No.”

 

”Then what?”

 

”I’m tired.”

 

”And you want out?”

 

”Who doesn’t?”

 

”He fucked you up real good, didn’t he?”

 

”He’s gone.”

 

”I know.”

 

And the kiss is rough and bruising, Jason bites his lip and he bleeds more, tastes iron on his tongue, a hand that was previously meant to harm is now holding the back of his neck to bring him closer. He doesn’t really think about anything else, just grinds against Jason, he smells of gasoline today, gasoline and blood, no cigarettes.

 

It’s a shame, when Jason kisses his neck, the red marks his hands left imprinted on his skin, the scar he gave him, and he can’t get it up, can’t feel it, no matter how many times he grinds and pushes and feels Jason’s tongue exploring that sensitive spot on his collarbone. He’s useless, and again, it’s a shame because being fucked senseless seemed like a good idea, but they should stop, really, Jason laughing at his death was almost offensive, and it irks him to no end that the ‘almost’ makes all the difference in the world right now.

 

In the end he’s being pushed aside, Dick is picking Damian, and Jason is here, something real, something he can touch, proof that the dead walk among the living.

 

They break apart, Jason holds his hands up to his chest.

 

”Let’s get the hell out of here. You and me, Tim, c’mon.”

 

”It won’t fix anything.”

 

”Who cares?”

 

He swallows.

 

”Okay.”


End file.
